


All that Burns

by BlackbirdsFly



Series: All That Burns [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Monster of the Week, Protective Derek, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:23:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackbirdsFly/pseuds/BlackbirdsFly
Summary: Stiles knew he wasn’t supposed to be in the Preserve alone, especially after Derek had caught a whiff of something that was definitely not of the human persuasion, but Stiles was Stiles. And that meant when Derek said no, Stiles’s entire being said yes. No amount of dating was going to change that.It’s not like he meant to actually find the thing, anyways. He just wanted to gather some more clues to research on. Something more than just “smells funky.” Helpful Isaac, really helpful.But now – now he was stumbling through the preserve, palms on fire from each time he stumbled and caught his fall on the jagged rocks and sticks. He could hardly breath, each time feeling as if his chest couldn’t get any tighter, only to be wrong. It was like a panic attack only so, so much worse. Derek was without a doubt going to kill him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some background details because I am not sure I will be able to fit them in just yet:  
> This story takes place after Season 3B and deviates from cannon (Allison is still alive and she was able to kill the nogitsune).  
> The pack is in their senior year of high school.  
> Derek and Stiles have been dating for a few months (ever since Boyd died and Stiles took care of Derek).
> 
> Also here are the three timelines this story is exploring:  
> 1) Night of the attack  
> 2) Morning/day of the attack  
> 3) Weeks leading up to the attack
> 
> **Pay attention to the dates/times of each section or it may get real confusing 
> 
> If I think of anything else I'll try to add it in.

  
**Night Of ******

**November 11th, 7:27 PM. ******

Derek was going to kill him.

Even through Stiles’s foggy mind he knew this to be a fact. Derek was going to find him here, probably half dead if not fully by the time he got to him, and he was going to want to kill him all over again for his idiocy.

Stiles knew he wasn’t supposed to be in the Preserve alone, especially after Derek had caught a whiff of something that was definitely not of the human persuasion, but Stiles was Stiles. And that meant when Derek said no, Stiles’s entire being said yes. No amount of dating was going to change that.

It’s not like he meant to actually find the thing, anyways. He just wanted to gather some more clues to research on. Something more than just “smells funky.” Helpful Isaac, really helpful.

But now – now he was stumbling through the preserve, palms on fire from each time he stumbled and caught his fall on the jagged rocks and sticks. He could hardly breath, each time feeling as if his chest couldn’t get any tighter, only to be wrong. It was like a panic attack only so, so much worse. 

Derek was without a doubt going to kill him.

~~

**4 Weeks Earlier ******

**October 13th, 3:25 PM. ******

The clothes on his floor were starting to build up, the smell in his room getting a little thicker than acceptable. Stiles sighed, laundry day it was then. 

Not exactly his ideal activity when he finally had time to sit and breath. The past few weeks had been so packed with school, Derek, bro-time with Scott, Derek, lacrosse, Derek, that he can’t remember the last time he sat down at his house without immediately needing to be somewhere. He’s not even sure the last time he had dinner at home with his dad. Crap.

But now with no homework, practice, or sexy werewolf to distract him, he can’t ignore the responsibilities he’s been neglecting. I.e. laundry.

Hauling his overly ripe clothes down the stairs and into the laundry room was no easy feat, despite the new bulk in his muscle he was able to tone up with all the long lacrosse practices and running for his life from crazy mutant beings. 

The front door creaked open, while Stiles monotonously sorted his clothes into lights and darks.

“Yo, Daddio! Look at your son, doing chores without being told. I think this deserves some kind of award. Definitely one of the monetary kind.”

“You want to be paid for finally doing your chores you’ve neglected for weeks?” 

Well, that smug tone definitely was not his father's.

“Yup,” Stiles said with a pop, “it is a momentous occasion, seeing as how I usually have this broody werewolf distracting me with all his muscles and eyebrows of doom.”

Shoving the last of his clothes into the washer, Stiles turned around to find Derek leaning against the doorframe, arms casually crossed as he watched him.

“Oh, don’t look so smug. You know this is half your fault. In fact, here, start helping me fold my dad’s clothes from the dryer.”

“I am not touching your father’s underwear Stiles,” Derek huffed, looking slightly horrified. 

“Well it wasn’t weird until you put it like that, you weirdo,” Stiles laughed, throwing a t-shirt at Derek. “What are you doing here anyways, I thought you were training with Isaac.” 

Derek glanced away, the casualness of his stance slipping, and Stiles saw the tense line of his shoulders hiding underneath. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, laundry forgotten. They hadn’t had any monsters of the week for almost a month now, and Stiles had known it was getting too good to be true. Nothing was ever this calm in Beacon Hills. 

“Is Isaac okay? Scott? Come on Der, you have to give me something,” Stiles rushed out, walking over to Derek and brushing his hands rhythmically up and down the werewolf’s arms, calming himself more than Derek.

“No- Yes, I mean. They’re okay, everyone is okay,” Derek assured, placing his large palms on Stiles’ cheeks to calm him down. 

Stiles leaned into Derek hand and let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck, alright. Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure…” The tense set of Derek’s shoulders hadn’t eased, despite his reassurances that everyone was alright. “We were in the Preserve, training, like usual, but something was different.”

Confusion and frustration knitted his eyebrows. Stiles hadn’t seen Derek this unsure in a long time. 

“Different? Like Isaac was different?” 

“No, no not like that. Like something in the air was different. There was this smell. It didn’t smell bad or anything like it usually does when something is hanging around, just different.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say. He knew that pushing for more information was only going to frustrate Derek more, but he really didn’t know what it was like, trying to differentiate smells between good and evil. Downside (or maybe upside?) of having a human sniffer.

Derek was staring at his hands, lost in thought. Stiles placed one of his own on top of them.

“Hey,” he whispered, not quite sure why he was being so quiet in an empty house, “look at me.”

Derek reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Stiles’. There’s a hidden vulnerability in them that Stiles had only just started to notice, and it made him want to take Derek and hide him from the world. It’s cliché in all the ways he never thought he would be in a relationship, but he knew that this was a part of Derek that only he got to see. It made something inside of him warm, but also clench up. He loved being that person for Derek, but wished there were more people Derek trusted with himself.

“We’ll figure this out, okay? Just like we always do.” Derek seemed to relax slightly at those words, despite Stiles knowing they were a slight cop out. Sure they usually figured things out, but sometimes that’s not always enough. Times like Erica and Boyd.

Sighing, Derek stepped away. Stiles could almost see him mentally shoving down his frustrations and putting back the strong front, having shown enough vulnerability for the day. 

“I came over so that we could go talk to Deaton, see if he had any ideas about what it might be.” 

“Right, yea, that’s a good idea. Just let me grab my shoes and I’ll be right out.” 

Derek nodded, and made his way back to the front door, fists shoved deep in his leather jacket.

Stiles sighed, looking after him for a moment, before pulling out his phone and texting his dad about missing dinner. Again.

~~

**Morning of ******

**November 11th, 6:32 AM. ******

Stiles thunked his head down on his desk, harder than he intended to and immediately pulled it back up to rub his pounding forehead.

“Shit.”

It was way too early for this. Way too early for anything really. His dad was still at work, finishing out his night shift, and the sun had just barely risen, but Stiles was already so done with the day. He had spent the last few nights scouring the Internet, in search of anything that might clue him in on “funky smelling mist in the woods” that caused people to go “legit crazy man.” Isaac really needed to get a larger vocabulary.

Deaton was just as useless. Although this was the first and probably only time Stiles will concede to the fact that Deaton might actually have no idea what’s going on, instead of just being purposefully evasive. Even a former emissary might have trouble deciphering what “funky smelling” meant.

Derek was running patrols every second he could, rarely sleeping, and becoming more and more taciturn as the days went on and the victim count continued to rise. So far there had been 5. Luckily no one had died yet, but the attacks were getting worse. 

The first time it happened, the pack, and everyone else, had brushed it off as some hiker who wandered too far into the woods and perhaps gotten a little too loose with the painkillers he had been carrying. Deputies found him stumbling around the woods after reports of someone screaming in the Preserve, but the man had been too out of it to recount anything that had happened past when he had pitched his tent the night before.

The second time, it hadn’t been written off so easily. One of the deputy’s husbands left a frantic message on their cellphone, a jumbled mess of words that got the point across though. He had been attacked. By what, he didn’t know but they had done something to him. Something that made his skin burn and chest tighten. They didn’t blame drugs this time. 

It went on like that for the next two victims. No distinct pattern between them. Each a different gender, race, and age group, but all were found roaming the Preserve in a feverish state. They were reported to be hallucinating, fighting things that weren’t there, heartbeats so wild the paramedics had to sedate them. 

The most recent one was the one that hurt Derek the most. A woman was reported missing after not returning from her morning run two days ago. She was a local attorney, clean as a whistle and mom to a 4-month-old son. Just like with the others, she had been found out in the woods, almost half out of her mind, paranoia gripping her so tightly she tried to fight the paramedics off when they attempted to get her onto a stretcher. 

When Stiles had snooped through his dad’s files and saw her picture, he was half convinced it might be Laura back from the grave. She had long dark brown hair and a striking face with fierce dark eyebrows, reminding Stiles so much of one of the Hales. Of course he didn’t tell Derek this. Didn’t need to from the way Derek clenched up when seeing the picture. He ran the perimeter extra hard that night, only returning to Stiles’ room at 7 AM just as Stiles was getting ready to head to school. Stiles almost skipped entirely when seeing Derek’s red-rimmed eyes and dark shadows, but Derek insisted he go, and Stiles only agreed when he convinced Derek to rest a little while in his bed. By the time Stiles rushed out of school at lunch to check on him, Derek was already gone. 

Stiles felt like pulling his hair out. He couldn’t stand sitting by and watching Derek work himself into the ground. The others were too, but especially Derek. The others had school still to focus on, lacrosse, homework, pretending to be regular teenagers so no one got suspicious. But Derek, he had all day to spend agonizing over it, running himself ragged, trying to find the slightest clue to figure out what the hell was even in the Preserve. Stiles was used to Derek keeping the mountain on his shoulders, but somehow this was different. This seemed like so much more. Like he could see Derek crumbling, but couldn’t do a single thing about it.

He needed more information. More than a vague description of smell. They haven’t gotten anything out of the victims, all still in such a state of shock they’re barely even speaking, so that was a dead end. But the Preserve. There had to be more in the Preserve.

Jumping up from his desk, Stiles grabbed his flannel, and searched his room for his right shoe. The deputies hadn’t found anything in the woods but they didn’t know what they were looking for. The pack hadn't found anything on their patrols, but they were far too reliant on their supernatural senses. Stiles, though, knew what to look for. He knew to look beyond smell and feeling. He knew that if he looked hard enough he would be able to find something and finally be useful. And he had all day to do it. 

~~

**4 Weeks Earlier ******

**October 13th, 4:05 PM. ******

The ride to Deaton’s was silent. Stiles was on his phone, corralling the rest of the pack to meet them at the vet’s, while Derek drove the Jeep, immediately shutting off the radio claiming the slight static that accompanied the music bugged his ears.

“Isaac and Scott are already at Deaton’s, Lydia and Allison are on their way, should be there in about 20 minutes,” Stiles said, still tapping away at his phone.

“Peter is coming too,” Derek answered, still focusing on the road. 

Stiles’ head snapped up. “Wait, seriously? Since when do we willing invite creeper wolf to things?”

“I think we’re going to need him, Stiles. This… I just have a bad feeling about this one,” Derek muttered defensively.

Stiles hummed. There was nothing he could really say that wouldn’t come across as insincere or judgmental. And taking a peek at the clenching and unclenching of Derek’s fists on the steering wheel, he didn’t want to risk being either one. 

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to the vet’s lot, Lydia’s car already parked along side Scott’s motorcycle.

“Well the gang is all here, I guess,” Stiles said jumping out of the passenger side of the jeep.

“Let’s get this over with,” Derek muttered as he rounded the Jeep to head inside.

“Hey, that’s the spirit!” Stiles pumped his hand in the air. Derek didn’t dignify it with a response.

Stiles sighed, this was definitely going to be a long day. 

Inside, Derek had already joined the others in the backroom, the closed sign now facing outwards on the front door. Scott and Isaac stood in the corner whispering to themselves, Scott sneaking glances not so covertly over to Allison where she stood with Lydia by the examination tables.

“Well, looks like the gang’s all here!” Stiles called out to the room, hoping to catch an irritated/grudgingly-amused huff from Derek. It was a no go. The werewolves just rolled their eyes, while Lydia ignored him and Allison graced him with a small smile. _Well, at least he got one out of five,_ Stiles thought. 

“I’m insulted Stiles, am I not considered one of your posse?” 

The voice came from behind Stiles, making him jump and clutch at his chest. 

“Mother fu– not as long as you keep doing that!” Stiles yelped, spinning around and glaring at the man now blocking the exit.

“Sit down and shut up Peter,” Derek said from his spot near Deaton, his leather jacket bunching at his shoulders from his arms tightly crossed across his chest. 

Peter huffed and brushed uncomfortably close to Stiles on his way to Deaton’s sole stool in the back. 

“Right, well now that everyone is truly here, how about we get started?” Deaton asked, face as neutral to the proceedings as ever.

No one spoke for a few moments. 

“Uh, well, Derek maybe you wanted to start by telling him about the smell?” Stiles coughed, fidgeting in the silence. Derek didn’t particularly look enthused at being prompted. 

“Isaac and I were out in the Preserve, over on the east side by the river, for our training, when we caught the scent of something.” Derek glanced over at Isaac, who just nodded along but didn’t offer any input.

“There wasn’t anything defining about it that I could point out. But I definitely know that I haven’t smelled it around here ever before, and it definitely wasn’t natural.”

“Hmm,” Deaton said, face still annoyingly neutral. “Was it a scent for certain, or more of a feeling?”

Derek shifted again, shoulders clenching even higher as he fought with his words. 

“You said it felt different,” Stiles said, remembering their conversation from earlier.

Everyone turned to look at Stiles, which made him fidget even more.

“You said there was a smell, but that it felt different. That the air felt different somehow.”

“Yea,” Isaac added, considering. “The smell was there but it was subtle, you know. I hadn’t noticed it until I paid more attention when we felt.. uneasy almost. Like I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.”

Peter rolled his eyes and got up from his seat, starting for the door.

“Well this is all very helpful information, really, great detective work everyone, but if that is all I am going to get going –“

“I said sit, and shut up,” Derek said firmly, eyes flashing at his uncle.

Peter just sighed in response, plopping back into the stool and resuming his classic bored expression.

“Unfortunately Peter is right, though these senses and scents feel distinct to your wolf, without being able to fully grasp it myself, I am not sure I will be able to narrow it down for you,” Deaton cut in.

“There are many different auras and creatures which can cause these ‘feelings’ you described. Any standard magic user can create something similar, but it takes a practiced one to know how to disguise their scent to the level you described.”

“So you think it’s a witch?” Stiles asked.

“Not necessarily,” Lydia added. “Though those with magic can create auras, which can be used to disorient or disturb anyone who happens upon them, they leave residual magic, which can be picked up easily with supernatural senses. There are many more creatures which have the same ability but less limitations when it comes to shifting the atmosphere of a place.”

“Exactly, Miss Martin,” Deaton commended, smiling slightly at her.

“Well, that’s just fantastic,” Stiles muttered. Derek didn’t look particularly excited about the notion either. 

Stiles could feel a headache starting to form. No creature meant he was going to have to research, no information meant he was going to have a bitch of a time doing that research. Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. It was nothing he hadn’t done before. Hell, he does it more often than not. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have to mentally prepare himself for the nights of little sleep that were ahead though.

“Right so the plan,” Scott said, pushing off of the wall he had been leaning on. “I mean, we’re going to make a plan, right?” The puppy eyes scanned the room, falling on Derek who was still standing stiffly with his arms crossed. 

“Isaac and Scott, you’ll head to the opposite side of the Preserve, see if you can catch the scent anywhere else,” Derek said, pointing at each of them. “Lydia, Stiles, you guys will head with Allison to start looking through the beastiary, and check in to see if Chris has noticed anything off as well.” 

“And where does that leave me, dear nephew?” Peter smirked from his stool.

“With me,” Derek grunted. “We are going to take the east side of the Preserve, see if we can pinpoint anything more specific about this.”

Peter reluctantly slid of the stool and joined the others as they made their way to the front door to do their respective tasks. Stiles grabbed Derek’s wrist, pulling them back slightly to fall behind.

“You know,” he whispered, “you’re really hot when you’re all commanding and shit.” Stiles smirked at the tiny huff and twitch of Derek’s lips in response.

“Dude!” Scott yelled from outside.

“Don’t deny it Scott, you saw it too!” Stiles yelled back, while Derek just rolled his eyes and followed the rest out the door. 

“Get to work Stiles,” Derek said darkly, eyes glinting, as he pushed out the door.

Damn, that was sexy.

~~

**Night Of ******

**November 11th, 8:27 PM. ******

He couldn’t breathe. He was trying to. Trying so hard. But he could- not- breathe.

The forest around him was getting thicker and foggier, the trees closing in around him as his chest heaved with absent air. A tingling sensation traveled up his arm, leaving fire in its wake. He couldn’t feel the ground anymore, wasn’t even sure he was touching it. His limbs felt absent, but like lead at the same time. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t breathe.

His body collided with something, knocking him to the forest floor. A tree. At least Stiles thought it was a tree. But everything was getting too foggy to comprehend. 

All he knew was he wanted Derek. Where the hell was Derek? There were tears running down his face, contrasting with the heat he felt everywhere. He could distantly hear whimpering, vaguely aware that it was him making those noises. 

Stiles called… didn’t he?

He can’t breathe. 

Stiles remembers the phone, his hands shaking, dialing again and again until he got the numbers right. Why was he dialing? 

There was dirt of leaves scraping under Stiles’ fingernails as he tried to claw his way forward, get anywhere at all that was away from this hell. 

Derek. He wanted Derek. He was calling Derek? 

There was a distant panicked voice over the line, Stiles recalled. A voice that usually made him feel better but this time made him let out a sob. Derek was on the line and things were supposed to be better but they weren’t. He couldn’t breathe.

Where the hell was Derek?


	2. Chapter 2

  
**Three weeks earlier ******

**October 20th, 5:47 PM. ******

Stiles flopped onto his back, limbs akimbo across the bed, and stared up at the ceiling as he panted. 

“I think – I think that was our best one yet.”

Derek huffed. “You say that every time,” he said, rolling back into Stiles’ side to drag his nose along the sensitive skin just behind Stiles’ ear.

“Hmm maybe, but this time I swear. I don’t think my legs are going to work anytime soon,” Stiles said, closing his eyes and baring his neck to Derek as the werewolf continued to nuzzle down it. 

“That’s a shame, I had plans for the shower.”

Derek’s voice was low and husky, Stiles skin prickling up at the sound of it.

“How about we substitute that shower for the tub and you carry me to it?”

“Has anyone ever told you how needy you are?”

“I have always been very in tune with my many needs,” Stiles teased back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Derek just rolled his eyes and untangled his legs from the jumble of sheets. 

“I'm starting the water now, if you are not there in 2 minutes I’m starting without you.”

“That threat is very cliché and not at all effective.”

Stiles didn’t even have to look at Derek to see his eyebrows laughing at him.

“Okay fine, so maybe it is effective. But still doesn’t mean my legs are going to recalibrate any faster.”

“Well then tell your legs they have 2 minutes,” Derek called over his shoulder as he crossed the loft and made his way to the sole bathroom in the place. 

“They say-“

“Two minutes!” 

Stiles huffed. Goddamn Derek’s cleanliness and sensibility, Stiles had really been hoping for some good cuddle time. 

The past week had been a slow crawl ever since Derek and Isaac’s training in the Preserve uncovered the new supernatural mystery plaguing Beacon Hills. There really wasn’t much for Stiles and Lydia to research on and Chris hadn’t been much help. He was wholeheartedly embracing his “retirement” and said he had not run into any new supernatural creature in Beacon Hills limits nor does he want to go looking for one.

Derek was spending most of his time running the Preserve with Isaac and Scott and trying to manhandle Peter into doing something other than sit in the corner and judge everyone (he hasn’t had much success with that one either).

Other than some hippy hiker taking one too many pills while camping a little ways off of the main trail, there wasn't anything that screamed _magical creature of the night is hiding in the woods, look out!_

Stiles was lost in thought when Derek snuck up behind him and scooped him out of bed and into the air.

Stiles screeched, flailing his arms, as Derek’s tightened around his waist. 

“You’ve had your two minutes,” Derek growled, smile a little pointy, carrying him to the steam filled bathroom.

Okay, Stiles had to admit, this may be even better than some cuddle time.

  


**Later that day ******

**October 20th, 8:05 PM. ******

Scott rolled open the loft’s door, only to immediately scrunch up his nose.

“Really guys? You couldn’t have waited until after pack meeting?” Scott groaned, walking over to the couch and flopping down opposite Stiles, glaring at him as if he personally offended Scott.

“My needs wait for no one, Scotty boy,” Stiles smirked back, without looking up from candy crush on his phone.

The rest of the pack began to file in, Isaac making the same face Scott had. 

Derek emerged from the kitchen carrying one small bag of cheese puffs and threw it down onto the coffee table. It was now Lydia’s turn to look mortally offended.

Derek just glanced at her and said, “Stiles ate the rest of the snacks, blame him.”

“Way to throw me under the bus, dude!” Stiles protested, as Lydia’s turned her unimpressed glare on him.

“Don’t call me dude.” 

“Alright, alright can we start this before you guys start boning again?” Isaac pleaded, still looking a little pale.

“Soak in the stench buddy, there’s going to be a lifetime of that,” Stiles grinned, only thinking about what he said when he saw Lydia’s smirk and Derek’s blushing ears.

“I mean… Uh-“

“He’s right, let’s get started,” Derek jumped in, blush still high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Damn that was cute.

“Lydia and Stiles, have you narrowed anything down in the beastiary?”

“What, you didn’t ask your boyfriend about it already?” Lydia smirked.

Derek just leveled her with a glare and she sighed.

“Fine. As you probably already know, without having any defining characteristics or measures, there is now way to really narrow it down any further from the hundred of entries that can all fit into the description you provided from what you smelled last week.”

Scott gawked, “hundreds?”

“Yes Scott, hundreds. Pretty much any creature of Arabic origin has traces of magic. It could be a genie for all we know. And no Scott, that doesn’t mean you could get three wishes.”

Scott slumped back in his seat, pouting a little. Allison leaned over the armrest to pat his arm and he looked infinitely better. Stiles rolled his eyes. Such a puppy, even after 3 years as a superhuman teen wolf.

“Any updates from the wolves on the heebie jeebies you’ve been feeling in the woods?” Stiles asked, shoving a handful of cheese puffs into his mouth. 

“Nothing man,” Scott answered, dragging his eyes away from Allison. “It gives me the chills though, even worse than Peter usually does.”

Stiles frowned.

“Speaking of undead uncles, where is yours Derek?”

“I have him running patrols in the Preserve.”

“So you’re essentially keeping him busy so that he won’t be here to make snide comments and demean everything you say?” 

Derek glared and grumbled out a curt, “Yes.”

“Well sounds great to me, carry on good sir,” Stiles saluted him with orange tipped fingers. You would really think the numerous of times they have seen each other naked would minimize the amount of times Derek glares and rolls his eyes at him in a day, but alas no.

“Like Scott was saying,” Isaac jumped in, shooting Stiles a totally undeserved glare, “there hasn’t been anything other than the - what did Lydia call it? The disturbed atmosphere feeling? Though I can identify it a lot easier now than I could on the first day.”

“Yea, exactly,” Scott agreed. “Whatever it was, it was probably just passing through. Definitely could have been worse.”

“No!” Stiles flailed, nearly dumping the cheese puffs into Lydia’s lap, as he pointed wildly at Scott.

“Knock on wood man, knock on wood!” Stiles yelped, eyes wide.

“What?” Scott said, sinking back into the cushions as Stiles jumped up. 

“Do it!” Stiles yelled, lunging at Scott to grab his hand.

The sound of Cop’s cut through the air, interrupting their wrestling. Everyone in the room went still. That was the Sheriff’s ringtone.

Derek was the first to move, fishing the phone out of Stiles’ jacket and walking over to where Stiles was still sprawled on Scott, now glaring at his best friend.

Derek answered the call, pressing the phone to Stiles’ ear and forcing him to stop trying to strangle Scott and take the phone.

“Yo pops, what’s hanging?”

“Stiles, you’re still at Derek’s right?” Stiles cringed at the cop voice his dad was using, this definitely was not going to be good.

“Righto, daddio.”

The Sheriff sighed. “Good, stay there.”

“...You going to give any context to that Dad?” Stiles asked, glancing around at everyone watching him, listening in. With the exception of Allison and Lydia that is, who Scott was whispering updates to.

“I’m heading to the Preserve.”

“Come on Dad, you have to give me more than that.”

The Sheriff sighed over the phone.

“Deputy Ramses’ husband called. Left a message on her phone, screaming about something in the woods attacking him. She hasn’t been able to get a hold of him since.”

“And you think it has something do with the spooky creatures of the night?” Stiles asked, punching Derek in the shoulder when the man rolled his eyes at him.

“Well the amount of panic in his voice makes me think it definitely wasn’t a normal mugging.”

The pack glanced around at each other, silently agreeing.

“Listen here Stiles, I don’t want you anywhere near this. You stay put at Derek’s, okay? Let us handle this for once and figure out if it really is something out of the ordinary.”

Stiles nodded along, uh-huhing until his father completed his lecture and hung up the phone.

It was silent in the loft, before Isaac spoke up. 

“So we’re going right?”

Nobody bothered to respond as they all stood and rushed out the door.

  


**October 20th, 9:51 PM.**

Scott was messing with the dashboard, trying to get the radio to emit something other than static. Stiles slapped his hand away. This was no time for jams, he had to focus.

Stiles could barely still see the camaro racing in the distance, far ahead of the straining jeep. Stiles eased the gas pedal further down, praying to the gods to let his baby survive. The streets were deserted this time of day, the only thing down here was the northernmost entrance to the Preserve. The only people stupid enough to frolic in these woods this late at night are people who are up to no good and, well, the pack. And in tonight’s case about half of Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department. 

The pack was split up between the two cars, Isaac and Derek in the camaro, and Stiles, Scott, Lydia and Allison in the Jeep. Attempts to contact Peter were a failure, not a shock to Stiles or really anyone else in the pack, but still a huge frustration. They needed to beat the deputies to the Preserve so they could scope out the area before it was muddled down with too many scents. The problem was Stiles had no idea how much of a head start the department had on them. He couldn’t tell by his father’s phone call if he was only just heading out of the office, on his way to the Preserve, or already there. Stiles prayed it was the former of the bunch.

The camaro was slipping further and further out of sight and Stiles cursed his lack of a sports engine. This was not the night to be drag racing down back roads either. The trees creaked above them as they swayed in the wind, leaves kicking out and blowing wildly in the road in front of them. Stiles was sitting on the edge of his seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel.

Stiles probably should have seen it coming. Really he should have. They were still about 10 miles out when a nasty pothole, disguised under accumulated leaves, caught them out of nowhere, making Stiles wince as the loud clunk reverberated through the Jeep and all four of them bounced in their seats.

“Ummm, that didn’t sound so good,” Scott said hesitantly from the passenger seat, knuckles white as he gripped the door.

The wind pushed at the Jeep, and Stiles tried to accelerate more but they were losing speed. 

“Uh, Stiles,” Scott began again.

“Yes, Scott, I know, loud clanking, thank you for pointing that out,” Stiles snapped, desperately trying to switch into the next gear. Why the hell were they losing so much speed?

“Stiles, I think-”

“Not now Scott.”

“But Stiles-”

“I said not now Scott! “ Stiles yelled, glaring at his best friend, who was now turned in his seat, looking out the back windshield. “This friggen thing is stuck,” Stiles grumbled at the gear shift.

“That’s probably due to the large chunk of metal that dropped off a few yards ago,” Lydia pointed out from the backseat.

Stiles whipped around to look behind them and Lydia smacked him on the back of the head.

“Eyes on the road, dumbass! I am not dying in this hunk of metal.” Stiles wanted to argue but she did have a point.

The Jeep was now spluttering and swaying from side to side as Stiles tried to guide it to a stop. Eventually they rolled to a stop on the side of the road, Derek’s camaro long gone in the distance.

It was silent in the car as Stiles gripped the steering wheel.

“Soooo,” Scott started, “Should we call Derek?”

“No, Scott. We are not calling Derek,” Stiles seethed, still resolutely looking out of the windshield. He could hear the hood of his car hissing over the sound of the wind. He knew he should go check it out, make sure they weren’t going to blow up or anything, but he really has always preferred ignoring issues like that and waiting to see if they will magically go away,

“I could still run there,” Scott offered, looking around the car at each of them,

Allison sighed, “Yea Scott, try to catch up with Derek and Isaac. I will call my Dad.”

Without a second glance, Scott jumped out of the car, and ran off into the woods, slamming the door behind him, making Stiles wince and grip the steering wheel a little tighter.

“I think you should call a tow truck too, Allison,” Lydia added. Stiles just thunked his head down on the steering wheel.

  


~~~

**Morning of**

**November 11th, 10:32 AM.**

Stiles sucked in a calming breath, and then another, before stepping across the threshold and into the decrepit Hale House. The floorboards creaked and Stiles cursed down at the ground. He didn’t know what it was that creeped him out so much being in this place.

No actually, he knew exactly what it was. It was definitely the fact that Derek’s entire family was murdered within these walls, and it always seemed to attract the psychos (i.e. Kate). 

He didn’t used to have such a problem with it. Before he knew each of the Hale’s names, what they were like when Derek was growing up, how much Derek loved and missed them, he just saw this house as morbidly fascinating. Now, though, he could almost feel the death seeping through the walls. Which was why, logically, this was the first place to look when trying to find clues about a supernatural creature of pain and possibly death.

The charred walls, combined with years of aging and rain decay, creaked in their instability. It was shocking they were still up to begin with. Closing his eyes, Stiles briefly considered turning back and calling Derek to pick him up. Stiles shook his head and stubbornly grit his teeth. He wasn’t going to back down and go crawling back to Derek, forcing him to deal with Stiles’s issues along with everything else. 

No. He definitely was not going to do that. He wasn’t going to do that to Derek. He was going to help him. He was going to find something useful, if only just to see the tension in the werewolf’s shoulders ease up a tiny bit. He had already wasted enough time having to walk to the Preserve, giving his Jeep a longing look as he passed it in the driveway. 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles ignored the wood creaking under his feet and made his way to where he knew the basement door to be. Might as well start with the worst and get it out of the way.

It was surprisingly preserved compared to the rest of the house. Despite being the location where the Hales perished, the fire had started by the back of the house on the main floor. Smoke inhalation, the reports said. 

There was still furniture stacked in the corners of the room. Old dining room chairs and a mahogany bureau were stacked together under a sheet of dust. Stiles tried to block out the history of this room, tried not to think about Derek’s family, or really Derek at all. 

In his many brainstorming sessions with Lydia, they had determined that even though the feeling that the wolves could sense in the Preserve was not corporal, the possible creature or magic user would have to hold up somewhere near by to cause that much of a disruption to effect the wolves that much. And if their corporal bodies were near by, then there definitely would be evidence left behind of that. 

That’s what Stiles was looking for today. It didn’t narrow down what exactly he would find, but it was the closest thing he had to go on.

Working back to front, Stiles searched the basement, ignoring the old scratch marks of the walls. Other than mouse droppings and a disturbing amount of cobwebs, he decided to move on to the other floors. 

The back of the house was essentially nonexistent, caved in from the flames, but somehow the staircase to the second floor was still there, though Stiles stuck to the very edge of them and gripped the railing for dear life.

The rooms upstairs had been cleared out, either by Derek and Laura before they left for New York, or by looters, Stiles wasn’t sure, but he was glad. He didn’t know if he could handle a room full of Derek’s little brothers’ possessions, or his parent’s. 

There was still one room with a rain soaked mattress thrown on the floor; no doubt from Derek’s time squatting here after Laura was killed. It took Stiles several deep breaths to push himself on from that. 

He was just about to move on to the last room when there was a loud thud on the main floor. 

Stiles froze. 

There was nothing but silence that followed it. All Stiles could hear was the wind creaking through the house, and his heart pounding out of his chest. Maybe it was the wind? Maybe it had blew the door hard, banging it against the wall? Stiles tried to remember if he had left it open or not. 

Thinking through his options, Stiles realized how little he actually had. He was on the second floor with the staircase as the only way to get down. He was too high up to jump. His human legs would break on impact and that would not be ideal for running away, Stiles thought.

His hands were beginning to shake, his breath shortening. As he was frozen in what used to the upstairs bathroom, Stiles heard a creak coming from the staircase, immediately drowned out by the sound of a howl in the distance.

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I decided to write the entire story before posting any more chapters that way it would be more organized and cohesive. But that means I have everything in rough draft form so no more long waits (knock on wood)! Hope you enjoy the update :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Three weeks earlier  
October 21th, 5:02 PM.**

The kitchen was eerily silent, compared to the frenetic activity of the past 24 hours. The Sheriff stood, leaning against the kitchen counter, while Stiles sat at the table, picking at the chipped edge, feeling like he was 5 years old again, about to be put in timeout. Which was more accurate than Stiles would like to admit.

“So you just happened to be driving down the road that heads to the Preserve immediately after I told you to stay put when the Jeep broke down?” the Sheriff asked, not bothering to keep the annoyed suspicion out of his voice.

“Yes, total coincidence,” Stiles said, flailing his hands a little and immediately cursing himself internally. His dad always knew when he was blatantly lying like this, especially when he got all flaily.

The Sheriff looked about as done with everything as the time Stiles stole his badge for a Halloween costume and ended up losing it and trying to replace it with one he bought from the Party City store a town over.

“Well I guess that makes me taking your car away pretty easy.”

“What, Dad no! I need my car,” Stiles yelped, jumping out of his seat, only to sit back down immediately at his father’s glare.

“You have plenty of friends with their own cars, Stiles. If you really need to get somewhere, I’m sure you can find a way.”

“I don’t even get why this is such a big deal,” Stiles mumbled, sulking a little in his seat. He can’t help it when it comes to his baby.

“You lied to me. Again.”

Stiles cringed.

“You told me that you were going to stay at Derek’s and that was a blatant lie,” the Sheriff continued. 

“It wasn’t a blatant lie!” Stiles said, defensively. “I mean, we did stay at Derek’s… for a little…”

The Sheriff just stared at Stiles, clearly unimpressed. Stiles sighed.

“Ok, no car,” he accepted reluctantly.

“And you’re paying for those repairs too.”

Stiles sputtered. “They are like hundreds of dollars!”

“Exactly,” the Sheriff replied calmly, walking over to the table to gather his jacket and car keys. “I wasn’t the one nearly redlining the car. If you want to continue having your own car then you have to accept the responsibility of it.”

The Sheriff patted Stiles on the shoulder before shrugging on his jacket and heading out for his shift, leaving Stiles alone and carless.

**Three weeks earlier  
October 23th, 8:02 AM.**

The engine rumbled and clattered down the quiet street, and Stiles prayed to God it wasn’t what he thought it was. The noise only grew, piercing Stiles’ ears, as Scott pulled onto his street. Stiles stood at the edge of his driveway and fought not to turn around and head back into his house and restart this day. God dammit he should have called Lydia.

Rolling to a stop in front of Stiles, Scott pulled off his helmet to reveal his excited, smiling face, way too peppy for this early in the morning. 

“Really?” Stiles asked, gesturing at the motorbike Scott was sitting on. 

“What?” Scott asked, genuinely confused. 

“You’re going to give me a ride to school on that? You couldn’t have borrowed your mom’s car?”

“She needed it for work. What was she going to do? She can’t drive my bike,” Scott said, eyes wide at the idea.

Stiles conceded to his point, though it was hilarious picturing Melissa zooming around Beacon Hills on the old dirt bike.

“Can we even both fit on that thing?” Stiles asked, eyeing the bike skeptically as he circled around it to look at the tiny space behind Scott he would have to balance on.

“Definitely! Me and Allison do it all the time,” Scott replied, thrusting the spare helmet at Stiles.

Stiles just gave him a look.

“I am not snuggling up to you like your ex-girlfriend or soon-to-be girlfriend again or whatever she is at the moment.” 

Scott just rolled his eyes at Stiles, and pushed the helmet into Stiles’ chest and let go, making Stiles either catch it or let it drop. 

“Do you want a ride or not?”

They both knew Stiles’ answer. 

**Three weeks earlier  
October 23th, 8:35 AM.**

Stiles clung to the back of Scott, his face tucked down into the back of his neck, eyes squeezed shut. The wind whipped through his thin jacket, making Stiles clench his teeth even more. How the hell is this considered fun? Why the hell would Allison put up with this? Stiles thought, completely bewildered.

Isaac was standing on the sidewalk when they came to a rolling stop at the school, tapping away at his phone as he waited. His phone was quickly forgotten though when he caught sight of Stiles fear stricken face smushed up against Scott’s smiling one. 

Stiles practically fell to the ground trying to climb off the bike once Scott secured the kickstand. His bones felt stiff from clinging so tightly to Scott.

“This - this is definitely the best thing I’ve seen all week,” Isaac gasped in between laughs, clutching his stomach wiping tears from his eyes, bent over with laughter. 

“Yea, yea laugh it up wolfboy. I remember the way you clung to the back of Braeden on her bike,” Stiles grumbled, straightening his clothes and practically throwing Scott the spare helmet to get away from it.

Isaac sobered up enough to glare at Stiles.

“I was also almost dying at the time.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Stiles waved off, heading to the school’s front doors. He wanted to be far far away from that death trap Scott calls a vehicle.

Isaac and Scott followed along behind him, chatting excitedly, probably gushing about how much they missed each other from the 10 hours they were apart, or something like that. No, Stiles was not bitter.

“I’ll see you guys at lunch,” he called over his shoulder, hurrying to his locker to grab his books before the bell. 

Turning the corner into B Hall, Stiles was blocked from his mission by a wall of a person, walking straight into said wall and bouncing back a little from the force of the impact.

“Holly,” Stiles gasped, grabbing at his shoulder, and turning to say sorry, but the guy kept walking, not even turning his head to look at Stiles.

“Jerk,” Stiles muttered, turning back to head to his locker. He flexed his fingers, shoulder throbbing. What the hell was that guy made of? Stiles thought, still rubbing his arm. 

It was tingling strangely, and Stiles frowned, flexing his hand and wondering if it was possible to pull something just by walking into someone. He rolled his eyes, only he would manage something like that - Derek would never let him live it down.

Dodging around others rushing to class, Stiles pulled up in front of his locker and distractedly twist his code in. At the last digit, Stiles pulled at the lock, but it didn’t budge. Stiles frowned.  
What the hell, Stiles thought.

He tried to put the numbers in again but stalled when he came up blank at the third one. He knew the combination, of course he did. He’s had the same one for four years. So why the hell couldn’t he remember it? 

Ten, thirty four, and… twenty one? No, that’s not it. Maybe twenty nine. It was definitely twenty something… possibly. 

Every number he could think of still left the lock immovable, and Stiles yanked at it in frustration. 

Looking back at the numbers on the lock, Stiles had to squint to try to make them out. It was like looking through smudged glass though, the numbers all fuzzy and blurring together. The harder he tried to focus on them the worse they got. 

He closed his eyes, shaking his head to try to clear it, but the numbers were still the same when he opened them. Everything felt clouded around him, his focus sealed to the lock. This couldn’t possibly be happening, Stiles thought, not again. He read a text from Derek a few minutes ago, he wasn’t slipping again. But the numbers remained a jumbled mess on the dial. Stiles yanked harder at the lock, frustration leading to panic when it still didn’t budge.

The bell screeched above his head and Stiles jumped, looking around to find the hallway empty. He had no idea how long he had been standing.

Stiles looked down at the numbers to find them clear again. He hesitantly started to put the number in. 

Ten, thirty four and -

Someone grabbed Stiles’ elbow from behind and he whipped around, pulling back and out of the grasp so hard he bashed his elbow into his locker.

Scott stood behind him, raising his hands, concern clear in his eyes.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

“Shit,” Stiles said, letting out a breath of air and shaking off the panic that had just gripped him, “yeah.”

So he was a little bit jumpy? Anybody in their right minds in Beacon Hills should be.

“Why aren’t you in class?” Stiles asked, refocusing on his surroundings.

“Your heart was pounding like crazy dude,” Scott said, his eyebrows still tight with worry. “I could hear it across school.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Guess I just spooked myself, you know how it is,” he tried to laugh it off.

Scott nodded, because the reality of it was he did know how it was. He had the same darkness around his heart too. Even without that they had all seen and done enough things that will cause a lifetime of trauma.

“Ok,” Scott said, still looking concerned. “Want to go to the nurse?”

“Nah man, I’ll just head to class, we’re probably going to be seeing each other in detention later today though,” Stiles said, punching Scott on the shoulder.

Scott chuckled and clapped him on the back before heading to his first period. 

Stiles turned back to his locker, and took a deep breath before looking down at the lock. The numbers were still clear, Stiles let out a sigh of relief.

Slowly putting in the first two numbers, Stiles paused at the third. Twelve. He knew it was twelve, but almost didn’t want to try it out in case it wasn’t correct. Shaking his head a little, Stiles twisted the lock to the number and tugged roughly, smiling a little when the lock sprang open. He quickly grabbed his books and jogged to class.

Sitting at his desk, detention slip stowed away in his backpack, Stiles tried to brush off his lingering fear. It was a common nightmare, not being able to read anything, stemming from his time with the door to his mind open for all to screw with. He sometimes still wakes himself up screaming - only able to calm down when his dad (or Derek when he spends the night at the loft) holds him close. Stiles was pretty sure that’s the only reason his dad’s so okay with him spending nights over at Derek’s. That and he knows he’s given Stiles enough safe-sex talks to scar his son for a lifetime.

Moral of the story was he’s used to the nightmares. Problem was, he hadn’t had them while he was awake since the pack (mainly Allison) figured out how to kill the Nogitsune. And that was what scared him the most.

Stiles fought the urge to call his dad or his boyfriend just to hear their voices. His dad would get just as freaked out as Stiles about this though, and he knew Derek wouldn’t hesitate to drive to the school to pick him up. He wasn’t lying to Scott, he really needed to stay in class. None of them could afford to miss anymore school; they reserve those days for when someone was literally dying. _Their lives_ , Stiles thought mentally groaning.

****

**Night of  
November 11th, 8:09 PM**

Somehow, the Hale House sprung up in front of Stiles, emerging from the thick patch of trees. Stiles had no idea how he found his way back to the house, but he sobbed out a laugh at his luck. 

Tripping his way to the front door, Stiles tried to heave in breaths. He was close, so close. He had to just make it up those rickety stairs and then he would be homefree. Sort of. 

His body was no longer cooperating, and he was pretty sure he had at least sprained his wrist, if not broken, from the falls he took navigating the woods to get here. He couldn’t tell with the pain starting to flare up all over his body. It was like a cruel joke. Once the pain in one part of his body stopped and Stiles began to hope that it was over, he would be bulldozed over by agony somewhere else.

The only thing he could focus on was how much he wanted, how much he needed, Derek. Derek would know what to do. He always knows how to take his pain away. But first he needed to find his phone.  
It took him several minutes longer than he would have liked to get up the stairs to the second floor of the Hale House, having to practically drag himself by the railing. 

His phone was right where he dropped it, tucked away in the master bedroom by the broken window. It took him three tries to finally scoop up the phone and unlock it, his fingers were shaking so hard. The screen blurred in front of his eyes, illegible no matter how hard he squinted. It was the first time in his life Stiles truly missed the buttons on his old flip phone. Pulling up what he hoped was his recent calls, Stiles tapped the most recent listing and crossed his fingers.

Derek picked up on the first ring, despite his recent radio silence, and Stiles wanted to cry he was so grateful. It was possibly the only thing that had gone right all day. 

“Der-” Stiles gasped out, shocked at how painful it was to force the syllable out. “I don’t… I don’t feel so good Derek. Something is wrong.”

It was so much worse now than in the woods. It was more than just pain. He was losing bearings on his surroundings. It was like being nearsighted all of a sudden, the scorch marks on the walls all blurred together into one big shadow, the dull light coming in from the window piercing all of a sudden. 

He could hear the tones of Derek’s voice on the other end of the line, growing faster and sharper, but he couldn’t make out the words. Fear clenched at his gut as the shadows in his vision grew, closing in on him. He had to get out of that place of death. 

Stumbling, Stiles forced his body to retreat back down the stairs. He didn’t even realize the panicked tears trailing down his cheeks until his breath caught in a sob. The tones coming from the phone tightly clenched in his fist were frantic and harsh now, reminding Stiles of the task at hand.

“Der, I found it. In the woods. It.. it hurts so much, I can’t take it.”

“Stiles! Stiles, where are you?” Derek’s voice shouted through the speaker. 

Things were moving around him. There was a crackling sound coming from the back room, like the wave of fire.

“The.. the house. Derek, I can’t, I don’t know, it just hurts so much, Derek _make it stop_.”

The crackling was growing, spreading heat through his body. The house was on fire. He had to get out, _right now._

Stiles stumbled over a broken floorboard, phone slipping out of his sweaty palm and clattering to the floor.

“No no no no, please.”

Stiles dropped to his knees, sweeping his arms through the leaves and dirt collected in the neglected house. He could feel splinters from the decayed hardwood floors piecing his palms, but his senses were jumbled. He felt faded and foggy but also hyper aware of the fire searing his insides. 

“Der, I - I can’t really see. Derek I can’t see anything.”

Stiles swept his arms faster through the debris, becoming increasingly more frantic as the heat from the fire pierced his skin and he lost the ability to hear the muffled sound of Derek calling his name from the tiny speaker on his phone. 

“Der…” Stiles sobbed, hands clutching dried leaves. He lowered his head to the ground as his body quaked with sobs. The pain was too much.

A scream pierced the air, jarring Stiles back into motion. Then another. And another. All coming from the basement as the red hue grew.

“No, no no no,” Stiles gasped, pitching himself forward and half running, half stumbling his way to the door and off the porch. The fire didn’t alleviate any in his bones as he hit the ground and gasped in a lungful of fresh air, but Stiles didn’t care. He would do anything to get away from the sounds of the Hales die all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame all typos on my sleep deprivation and lack of caffeine. Hope you enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

  
**Three weeks earlier**

****

**October 23th, 7:04 PM.**

Stiles dragged his deadened legs up the stairs to Derek’s loft. This day had been a day from hell, his energy completely drained after the incident at his locker. Then to add to it he had detention and a difficult lacrosse practice on top of that. Coach had been extra harsh today, muttering angrily the entire time about the Sheriff’s Department having banned the team from the running paths through the Preserve due to their ongoing investigation into the supposed “druggings”. Instead, they had to just do sprints along the length of the lacrosse field. Lots and lots of sprints.

Stiles whimpered, clinging to the railing and praying he didn’t fall backwards down the staircase. Derek probably wouldn’t be too happy about that. At least he wasn't the last time it happened. Stiles was also belligerently drunk at the time though so there was that.

Stiles was thankful, guiltily not for the first time, that his dad was on the night shift tonight. As much as his old man stated he was fine with Stiles crashing at the loft, he was not particularly enthused by the frequency of the sleepovers. Tonight though, Stiles desperately needed some nice snuggles from his cuddly boyfriend, without having to feel guilty looking at his father’s furrowed brow when he left for the night.

Heaving open the loft door, having to throw his entire weight into it in order to do so, Stiles finally sighed out a breath of relief and smiled.

“Sourwolf,” he called out, echoing into the large open space, “your super needy human boyfriend desires some serious hugs.”

There was no response. 

Stiles frowned, closing the door behind him and venturing further into the loft. 

“Derek?” he called again. 

Silence.

Stiles slumped, his shoulders sagging and his bag sliding off of his shoulder onto the ground. This was the third time in the past two weeks Stiles had arrived at the loft for date and cuddle night only to find Derek still out on patrol.

Leaving his bag in the hallway, something that would annoy the living crap out of Derek if he was actually here, Stiles sullenly walked into the kitchen, pulling out the peanut butter and whole wheat bread. He tried not to be too disappointed, it’s not like Derek was even that late. He probably assumed that Stiles was going to stop by his house first and shower before heading over, Stiles reasoned. 

Plopping down on the couch, Stiles shoved the sandwich in his mouth and turned on the TV. After switching mindlessly through the channels, Stiles settled on The Simpsons as background noise to drown out the silence while he waited. An episode and finished sandwich later, Stiles brushed the crumbs off of his lap and stretched out his sore limbs across the long couch, burying his face in the throw pillows Lydia had bought for the loft. Despite their full figure, he had to punch them a couple times to loosen the feathers a little to not feel like lying on a brick. 

All of Stiles’ limbs felt like they were sinking into the couch, muscles finally relenting as Stiles settled in for the wait. _He would just rest for a little bit_ , Stiles thought, _the loft door would wake him up when Derek got home_...

***

It was a full bladder and a streak of sun blinding him, that stirred Stiles from the fog of slumber. It took him a moment to comprehend where he was, his body stretched out along the length of the couch, his feet hanging over the end, and his face smushed in between the armrest and the cushion, nearly suffocating himself. 

Stiles shook off the morning haze and reached blindly over to turn the TV off, silencing the overly peppy voices of the morning news anchors. His muscles tweaked and pulled as he stretched and attempted to untangle his limbs from the sprawled position he ended up in during his sleep. _Holly bananas, he needed to pee,_ Stiles realized.

Jumping up from the couch, Stiles stumbled over a wayward throw pillow that had fallen on the floor and rushed to the bathroom. Halfway there, though, Stiles hesitated when he caught sight of the still made bed pushed up against the wall of windows. 

Derek never came home last night.

Logically, Stiles knew that Derek was probably fine - that he probably just lost track of time patrolling the Preserve again. Derek had explained to him how time felt nonexistent in his full shift.

But the anxiety from yesterday still clung to Stiles’ bones and tightened his chest.

Shoving his hands into his pocket, it took Stiles three attempts to dial Derek, his hands starting to shake the longer he considered all else the empty bed could mean. He paced as the phone rang, his heartbeat rising with each ring that went unanswered.

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” Derek rushed out immediately when he finally picked up.

Stiles let out his breath in a whoosh and collapsed back down into the nearest chair, which just happened to be one of the island stools in Derek’s makeshift kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Derek repeated, quieter this time.

Stiles kept his eyes squeezed shut and breathed in, then out. 

“I’m not mad,” he said eventually, knowing Derek was waiting on the other side of the line. “As long as you’re okay, I’m fine. I just got scared when I woke up and you weren’t here.”

“I know, I’m okay I promise… What do you need me to do?” Derek’s voice cracked with disuse, probably still getting used to the shift to human vocal cords again. Stiles could hear the sound of chirping and leaves blowing in the background.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” 

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, voice still achingly soft.

“Just… just talk to me,” Stiles breathed out, his breath hiccuping a little. 

“Ok,” Derek said softly.

It was quiet for a few beats, Stiles could practically hear Derek stressing over the right thing to say, but he waited him out.

“Peter fell into a creak last night.” 

A surprised laugh burst out of Stiles.

“No way.”

“He did,” Derek chuckled, “Tripped and rolled down a hill right into the freezing water.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, wheezed out as he pictured the scene.

“He looked so offended,” Derek continued.

“That,” Stiles laughed, “is the best thing I have ever heard.”

“Turns out he tripped over a garden snake that wasn’t even longer than my arm,” Derek finished, smile evident in his tone.

For some reason this made Stiles laugh even harder. The fierce and sharp fighter Peter always claimed to be, taken down by an everyday garden snake. It made Stiles practically hysterical with laughter, tears streaming down his face and his stomach cramping up. It was probably the exhaustion and nerves, logic reasoned, but Stiles didn’t care. Fuck, he needed to laugh.

“Shit,” Stiles finally muttered after he got himself under control, “you have no idea how much I needed that. And how pissed I am I missed it.”

Derek hummed into the phone. “First thing he said when he got up was ‘don’t tell Stiles’.”

“Of course he did,” Stiles huffed. He couldn’t wait to rub this in Peter’s face.

“I should have been there when you woke up,” Derek said after a moment. 

“It’s ok,” Stiles said. And it was. He knew Derek was struggling with balancing everything at once. “You can’t be everywhere at once dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles huffed again, glad he could hide his smile. He wished Derek was there so he could feel his strong arms wrapped around him, breathe in his scent, and forget about the outside world for just a little longer. Dear God, he really was entering Scott and Allison territory, he needed to relax.

“Are you okay to get to school?” Derek asked. “I’m about 20 minutes away, I could drive you.”

“Nah, that’s okay. Scott is going to pick me up.”

Derek snorted. “You like getting cozy to McCall on that bike? Should I be jealous?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

He knew without Derek speaking that he was smirking on the other end of the line.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay? Try to get some rest soon.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Ok, bye,” Stiles said, biting his tongue before he let something stupid like the l-word slip. Now was not the time for that.

“Bye, Stiles.”

Hanging up, Stiles sat on the chair for a moment, looking out the large bay windows above the very inviting bed, before realizing what he was doing before his call with Derek and jumping up.

God damn, he had to pee.

  
**Three weeks earlier**

****

**October 24th, 8:31 AM.**

The motorbike veered dangerously to the right on the last bend in the road before the high school and Stiles’ overfull backpack shifted, nearly pulling him straight off the bike. It would have too, if it weren't for Stiles' death grip around Scott. 

Stiles had emptied all of his books into his bag after detention yesterday, vowing to forgo using his locker this week. A decision he highly regretted now as he fought every turn to keep his equilibrium on point.

Stiles felt more than saw the bike pull to a stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to uncurl his limbs from Scott’s just yet.

“You doing alright there, buddy?” Scott called back to him, not moving to remove Stiles either. It made Stiles want to squeeze him even tighter in gratitude.

“Yea,” Stiles paused to take a deep breath and then slowly unwrapped himself. His muscles were even tighter than they were from yesterday’s ride. He felt like an old man on a chilly morning.

Isaac stood on the sidewalk waiting for them again, but this time he thankfully didn’t comment on their form of transportation, sensing the precariousness of Stiles’ mood. Despite Derek cheering him up this morning he still was on edge, neck aching from his sleep on the couch, stomach ready to drop out at any moment. He felt uncentered. 

Scott and Isaac flanked Stiles on either side as they walked into the bustling school. Their chatter was white noise, settling Stiles. Lydia was waiting outside of their Calculus class, looking far too peppy to be entering an hour of formulas and equations. Although this was Lydia, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if this was secretly her happiest pass time.

“You guys don’t have to escort me to class, you know,” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at the faux innocent looks they gave him.

“Who says we're escorting you?” Scott said with an exaggerated laugh. “We wanted to just talk and hang out!”

Stiles raised his eyebrow. He didn’t have to know Scott almost all of his life to know when the kid was lying, he really wasn’t very good at it.

Isaac huffed. “You’re spending too much time with Derek. Your eyebrows are starting to have their own language too.”

It was Scott’s turn to roll his eyes at the smirk Stiles gave Isaac. “Ew dude, keep your bedroom thoughts for times when I am not around.”

Stiles laughed genuinely this time, throwing an arm over Scott. “Oh, like you’re one to talk.”

Scott shoved Stiles gently off of him before clapping him on the shoulder.

“Whatever dude, we’ll see you at lunch.” 

As Scott and Isaac set off for history, Stiles turned to Lydia to find her smirking at him.

“What?”

“So about those bedroom thoughts-” She started, eyes gleaming.

“Arrghhh, no. Hell no. You and Allison already have way too much information on my relationship with Derek,” Stiles groaned, cutting her off and rushing into the classroom as she tried to protest. Thankfully, Stiles was quite literally saved by the bell.

  
**Three weeks earlier**

****

**October 24th, 11:51 AM.**

Stiles felt the eyes on him again. That heavy weight trickling down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He couldn’t explain it, but he could feel it in every extension of his body that someone was watching him. He tried to brush it off, attributing it to the hanging paranoia and nerves that had engulfed him for the past few days. The last thing he wanted to do was run crying wolf to the pack. _Heh, crying wolf to a pack of werewolves._ Stiles smirked and laughed to himself. _It’s the little things in life,_ he thought.

Scott was shooting Stiles concerned looks across the table all lunch period, something Stiles was resolutely ignoring, and he looked even more concerned at Stiles’ laugh. Stiles ducked his head down and went back to focusing on picking at the crust of his sandwich. 

He knew the pack was worried at his silence, all of their voices trailing off as they tried to discreetly sneak glances at him. Except Lydia of course, who didn’t try to hide her glares at Stiles. He was supposed to be listening to her rant about her senior thesis. He couldn’t bring himself to care. It was October and she was already halfway through writing the thing, she clearly didn’t need any of his help.

Stiles tried to convince himself it was just their eyes he was feeling land on him, but it was more than that. It made his limbs twitch in unease and anxious energy. Stiles wanted to flip the table, cause a distraction and search out who the hell was so interested in him. He picked at his bread instead. 

It was almost like resolutely not looking was making Stiles more panicked. Like he was about to be jumped without any warning. He needed to get out of here, walk off his excess energy before having to sit through another tortuous class. 

The pack fell silent as Stiles stood, looking at each other in confusion as he silently gathered his food, a sandwich with barely a bite taken out of it, and a banana just as untouched. 

“Going to the library,” Stiles murmured to the others, just to stop the stares. Scott looked like he was ready to jump out of his seat and run after him, but he settled when Lydia shot him a look and Allison smoothed her hand down his arm.

Stiles only made it to the trash can though before he snuck a glance around the room, unable to help himself. He did it as discreetly as he could, but knew he failed miserably. But it didn’t matter, because Stiles found his culprit, who was even less discrete than him. 

The boy sat tucked away in the back corner of the large cafeteria, his gray hoodie looking about two sizes too big, even from a distance. It was too far to see any clear features. But while everyone else around him engaged in animate conversation, laughing and gesturing around, some even flicking their dreadful school cafeteria lunch at one another, he sat completely still, eyes trained on Stiles.

Stiles felt locked on his feet, unable to move to the open doors five feet away from him. The thing was, Stiles was used to being stared at. Kind of comes with the territory as the Sheriff's kid, especially the Sheriff's kid who spends the majority of his time flailing about, tripping over nothing. But when others usually stared at him to roll their eyes or to laugh at that Stilinski kid doing something weird again, that was not the case for the boy in the hoodie.

There was no rolling of the eyes, or pointing and laughing. Just very prolonged and terrifying eye contact.

  


The bell rang, and the mass of students all synchronically stood, gathering their books and heading to the closest trash, effectively blocking Stiles’ line of sight. Allison appeared next to him and bumped his shoulder, nudging him to join the crowd filtering out of the caf.

“You okay?” she asked, brows knitted in concern as she took in his pallor.

Stiles glanced back over his shoulder, but the table in the corner was empty. 

“Yea,” he bluffed, adding a shaky laugh, “of course.”

Allison just smiled at him, hooking her arm through his and walking silently with him to their fourth period. 

Stiles debated telling her, but the more he thought about it the less convinced he was that there was really even an issue to confess. They had fought rogue hunters and vengeful lizards, why the hell was he so scared about one creep staring at him for a minute or so? Get it together Stilinski. 

It’s probably just his nerves making him extra sensitive, Stiles thought. Yea that’s probably it.

  
**Night of**

****

**November 11th, 2:21 PM**

Stiles never realized how much sound a forest makes until there was the distinct lack of it. It was like being inside a vacuum-sealed bag. There was no rustle of leaves, no creak of old-yet-sturdy branches in the wind, no chirping birds, no crunch of twigs under his feet as he walked. It was more terrifying than any animalistic/supernatural war screech Stiles has ever heard. 

Controlling his breath, in one-two-three, out one-two-three, Stiles continued forward. He needed to keep moving, see how far this silent bubble expanded. Stiles had played enough of these cat and mouse games with Peter to know that the worst thing he could do right now was to stop moving.

After what Stiles guessed was a few minutes of walking, he came across a familiar clearing. The forest walls opened up to long, lush grass blanketing the ground, patches of wild flowers scattered throughout, and a few willow trees hugging the edges. Derek brought him here about a month after their first date. Stiles had complained the entire walk out there, swatting away mosquitoes and kicking at twigs that kept tripping him up. He fell silent as soon as he set sight on clearing though, Derek walking out to the middle and looking back at him with hesitant hope in his eyes and a small smile. It was the first time Stiles had ever felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest in a good way. 

The memories allowed Stiles to take a breath, easing some of the panic coursing through him. More importantly, though, the memories meant Stiles knew where he was in the Preserve – and how he could get out. Hope sprang up in his chest for the first time since entering the Hale House earlier that morning. 

Stiles ran into the clearing, heading for the opposite side which would lead him back to the main road, but stopped in his tracks when his path was blocked. 

There was a shape standing on the other side of the clearing, masked almost entirely in the shade from the two large trees on either side of it. But Stiles could make out the eyes. 

Eyes that pierced into him. 

Eyes that he instantly recognized.

Eyes that he’d never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I threw this together on my bus ride back from Boston so apologies for any spelling and grammatical errors. I will probably go through with a closer eye tomorrow but I wanted to get something up tonight :)
> 
> EDIT: I went back through and fixed all (most?) of the horrendous grammatical errors throughout. Apologies if you read it before the edits! I promise next time won't be as rushed


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter without a flash forward to the attack. That doesn't mean Stiles doesn't encounter some other... issues in this update though cough cough. Enjoy!

**October 24th, 5:48 PM.**

No, Stiles was not running away from his problems. He was just.... taking a breather. If anything he was being a good son by skipping out on the pack meeting and spending the night at his house with his dad. This was what a normal son was supposed to do, right? Because that’s all Stiles wanted, to finally feel normal again. At least for just for a little while. 

He wanted to sit on the couch with his pops, watching the game and arguing about which team was going to make it all the way that season, even though they both secretly hoped it would be the Mets. He wanted to crack jokes at his father’s expense, and have his father throw them right back. 

He wanted to forget, just for a little while, how utterly useless he was to the pack right now, unable to do the one thing that made him valuable to them. He wanted to forget the gnawing feeling in the pit his stomach every time he told Derek he didn’t have any leads from his research. He wanted to forget about the clawing darkness he can feel squeezing his chest, making it hard to breath. He wanted to pretend to be a normal high school kid, whose only worry was the homework he was procrastinating doing. Not a high school kid who worked himself into a panic at lunch because of his stupid paranoia. 

So sue him, he needed his dad.

Stiles plopped down onto the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table and sighed deeply. 

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow at him from his arm chair, the Dodgers game filling the room with white noise.

“No pack meeting tonight?”

“Nope,” Stiles said, popping the p and reaching over to steal some of the popcorn his dad had lying on the side table between them. 

“No date night?”

“Nope.”

“No homework?”

Stiles paused with a handful of food halfway to his mouth. 

“I’m starting to feel unwanted here,” Stiles said, glaring suspiciously at his father.

The Sheriff raised his hands up. “Nobody said that. This is just unusual is all.”

“Well I just wanted to spend some time with my old man, is that a crime?”

“Depends on what you’re avoiding in doing so,” the Sheriff replied, seeing right through Stiles.

Stiles shoved the rest of the popcorn in his mouth and turned back to the game, content on ignoring the questioning glances from his father.

There’s a few minutes of blissful silence, filled only with the crack of the bat and the announcers excited chattering as a runner rounded the bases. 

“You never answered my question about your homework,” the Sheriff pointed out.

Stiles just groaned, flopping back to lie on the couch, hiding his smile in the cushion when he heard his father chuckle and pat his knee.

 

**November 2nd, 8:08 PM.**

The diner lights flickered on the pavement outside, casting a red glow across the walkway while the rest of the parking lot dipped into darkness. Inside, sitting in the overlarge booths though, the lights were bright and warm and Stiles slurped happily on his mint oreo milkshake with Derek across from him. Although happy or not, Stiles couldn’t help but keep skeptically glaring at the lettuce wrapped burger Derek had insisted on ordering, the weirdo.

Stiles nudged their feet together, resting his foot on top of Derek’s ankle, his chest swelling when he caught Derek’s eyes crinkle with a smile. He liked playing footsie, so what? He knew Derek did too, despite how much he liked to deny it when asked.

The diner was packed with couples like them, all munching away at their meals. Though there was the one in the corner who reminded Stiles far too much of Lydia and Jackson who were glaring at each other in cold silence. Fran, their usual waitress, had slipped Stiles some extra curly fries with his milkshake and he could not be any more in love with this place than he was right now.

“You are the only person I know to crave milkshakes in the middle of fall when it is about 50 degrees outside,” Derek said, his own fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.

“Yea well, who the hell drinks coffee at 8 o’clock at night,” Stiles responded, trying to suck up the last bits of ice cream hiding in the corners of his glass.

“Werewolf metabolism,” Derek smirked, brushing his foot further up the inseam of Stiles’ leg. Stiles shivered, making Derek smirk even more.

“Shut up, I’m just cold. Like you said it’s fall and I just downed a large milkshake.”

“Mhm.”

Stiles glared, but his response was cut off by Derek’s cellphone.

“What,” Derek answered into the phone with his usual lack of intonation. _50/50 it was either Scott or Peter on the phone_ , Stiles thought.

Stiles had gone back to fighting with the last bits of his milkshake when Derek abruptly pulled his feet away, making Stiles nearly slip out of his seat, and jarring his focus onto the way Derek’s shoulder were now taut like a bow. Gone was the crinkle of a smile in his eyes, instead replaced by a hard mask, giving Stiles flashbacks to the Derek he had first met out in the woods sophomore year. Yup, that was definitely Peter on the phone.

Derek hung up after a quick affirmative and stood up from the booth, pulling out his wallet to throw some money on the table for Fran.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, unsure if he should be running for the door too, but hesitating. He still had fries left.

“Come on,” Derek responded gruffly, “I have to go, I can drop you off at the loft.”

“Or you could tell me where you have to go and I could come with you.”

Derek just glared at him, practically forcing Stiles into his jacket and penguin walking him out of the diner and into the pitch black parking lot. 

“Derek, I am not even finished with my fries!” Stiles exclaimed. Derek ignored him, absently waving to Fran as she called out a goodbye to them. Stiles complained the whole way to the camaro, shivering when the lights faded and her could barely make out where they were parked. Derek resolutely ignored him though, keeping Stiles’ elbow in his grip, probably to make sure he didn’t make a break for it to rescue his abandoned curly fries.

Stiles sulked in the passenger seat, giving Derek the silent treatment, as they pulled out of the diner parking lot, tires squealing a little too loud for comfort. Although now that Stiles thought about it, silent treatment was probably a God send for Derek. 

Five minutes later, the silent car pulled up to the front of the loft’s warehouse building. The pair sat, both brooding on their separate sides of the car, neither making a make to get out. It made Stiles fume even more.

“What, you’re not even going to walk me to the door?” Stiles snapped. “You’re a lousy date, Derek Hale.”

“Stiles-”

“Don’t even think about trying to get me to put out tonight,” Stiles cut over him, his sarcasm a little too biting to be playful.

“Please just hang out at the loft, or back at your house, and stay out-”

“Stay out of it?” Stiles exploded, whipping around to stare at Derek incredulously. He didn’t care if he was being unreasonable. Derek was acting as if it was 3 years ago, before Stiles saved his ass more times than he could count, before Stiles had proved his worth as part of this pack.

“Don’t you dare tell me to go home and sit on my ass like some housewife, Derek, I swear to god,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I need you to be away from this, Stiles,” Derek answered, refusing to look at him.

“Away from what, Derek! We don’t even know what to stay away from because we don’t know shit!”

“You think I don’t know that!” Derek exploded, his eyes flashing circles of red around his irises. He was breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching his fists on the steering wheel.

Stiles sank back in his seat, his heart still pounding but the fight shocked out of him. The car was eerily silent again, as Derek sat in his seat still fighting for control.

“Fine,” Stiles said curtly, “call me when you’ve got your head out of your ass and realize I could actually be useful.”

Stiles threw open the car door and hopped out before Derek had a chance to answer, making sure to slam the door behind him as one last jab in the argument. He wasn’t even to the door before he heard the camaro peel away from the curb.

A sense of numbness fell over Stiles as he walked over to the stairs, resting his head against the wall briefly before taking a deep breath and starting his journey up the flight of stairs.

He always fights with Derek, Stiles tried to remind himself, it’s what they do, this was no different. They were fine. They would be totally fine. 

It was hard to believe when all he could see was Derek’s red eyes and his struggle to keep control. Derek hadn’t almost wolfed out in anger at Stiles since they first met, back when they hated each other’s guts. 

He hung up his coat when he finally made it up to the empty loft, carefully making sure he lined his shoes up on the mat by the door, before he started pacing around the living room. He had too much energy to relax and “hang out” like Derek suggested. Did he even know who he was talking to? 

Maybe he could help clean up? Try to make Derek a little more amenable when he got back.

Stiles looked around at the spotless loft. _Oh right,_ Stiles thought, _my boyfriend is a neat freak._

Stiles continued to pace in frustration, wondering if he should just call his dad and have him pick him up. He hated when Derek ordered him around, especially when it involved telling him to stay out of things. But admittedly he hated the gnawing feeling in his gut about they way he left things with Derek even more. 

Stiles sighed again, making up his mind. He couldn't go home just yet. No, he was going to sit down on the couch and wait Derek out. There was no way he was going to let him brood for days on end, while Stiles sat at home with growing anxiety about where their relationship was at. Stiles was going to be proactive, and fix things as soon as Derek got home from... whatever he got called away for. Because Stiles didn’t even know what type of danger was going on that he was supposed to be staying away from, ugh.

The loft was cold, the draft from the large wall of windows blowing directly on the couch. Stiles shivered, wishing he still had those curly fries, and slightly regretting that milkshake as he buried himself under the sole couch blanket. 

It was a long time before Stiles finally gave up and went to sleep in the bed, hugging one of the pillows to his chest and staring dry-eyed at the loft’s door.

 

**November 3rd, 7:28 AM.**

Despite the sun gleaming in through the windows, the loft was just as crisp as it had been the night before. Stiles fought his way out of his bundling of blankets and hustled over to Derek’s closet, digging through the piles of his own clothes he kept shoved in the back corner. He found a t-shirt, flannel and zip-up combo that was only slightly dirty, and threw that on, shivering from exposure to the cold loft air. It was a normal morning routine for Stiles after spending the night at Derek’s, but usually he starts out warm and toasty with his werewolf space heater wrapped up with him in bed. This morning though, the silence made him shiver even more.

_I’m fine. Not coming back tonight. Don’t go anywhere alone._

Stiles stared down at the text. He received it at 4:30 this morning, shooting up at the ping and scrambling for his phone, silently hoping that it was Derek asking for his help, or apologizing, or something. But after reading it, he was too angry to go back to sleep for a while after that. He strongly debated just heading back to his house to try to get a few more hours of rest before he realized the Jeep was still nothing better than a chunk of metal sitting in his driveway. 

Stiles searched through the cabinets, looking for something other than Derek’s bland granola cereal to eat. Scott of course wasn’t answering his phone. After the third attempt Stiles gave up, calling Lydia instead for a ride to school. It took a few minutes of bargaining to get her to drive all the way across town to pick him up at the loft. It cost him one Saturday dedicated to shopping for college interview clothes for her, and another weeknight where he would have to spend his time as a sounding board for her thesis arguments.

Close to 20 minutes later, Stiles closed up the silent loft at the buzz of his phone and trudged down the stairs with one of Derek’s “healthy” energy bars shoved in his pocket. 

The lack of sleep and his fight with Derek was already crushing Stiles’ mood, making him cranky and irritable. He ignored Allison’s attempts at small talk as he climbed into the backseat of Lydia’s shiny new car. A present from her ever absent father in attempts to make her forget about his failure as a parental figure. 

This time when they pulled up to school, Isaac was not waiting for them on the sidewalk. In fact, Scott’s bike wasn’t parked in his usual spot either. He turned to asked Allison if she knew anything, but he caught her exchanging a look with Lydia before they hastily shuffled him along, talking too quickly to be casual. It darkened Stiles’ mood even further.

Scott and Isaac stayed missing from the school for the rest of the day, and despite the upwards of a million texts Stiles sent Scott, they weren’t answering their phones either. The only confirmation he had that they weren’t dead was the once again succinct text from Derek, in response to his compelling inquiry of Scott and Isaac’s whereabouts, which detailed why he needed to know where they were, the possible ramifications of him not knowing, and the use he could provide overall by knowing where they were.

_With me._

That’s it. That was the response.

If Stiles had werewolf strength, he would have crushed his phone right there in the middle of AP Lit. He felt his anger buzzing around him all day long, like tiny wasps zapping him whenever he lulled into some type of calm. He couldn’t stand Allison and Lydia’s incessant chatter during lunch. His normal tolerance for Lydia’s jabs at his clothes, hair, attitude and overall life was nonexistent by the time the lunch bell rang and it was time for 5th period.

Nothing improved the rest of the day, not surprising Stiles at all. Jeremy in his chemistry class spilled a vial of something that smelled like vinegar all over his jeans. He got the history test he took on the morning of the locker incident back, and it had enough red bleeding through the pages that Stiles didn’t bother flipping to look at the grade. His backpack’s zipper was beginning to fray from the weight of the books and it took him 5 minutes just to open it. Mr. Costa continued to glare at him the entire time during his struggle, waiting on Stiles to turn in his homework with an annoying taping of his foot. By the time the last period rolled around, Stiles had a throbbing headache from gritting his teeth so hard for an extended period of time. Also, every time he caught a whiff of the overwhelming vinegar scent trapped in the fabric of his jeans,, Stiles imagined himself strangling Jeremy until his pale little face was purple. 

“You know if you actually used that shampoo I gave you, you wouldn’t have to use so much gel on your hair. Maybe then you wouldn’t look like you could pop a balloon with your head,” Lydia chided him as they walked out of the school at the last bell. Lydia reached over and started twisting strands of his hair. Stiles slapped her hand away and glared at Allison when she walked up beside them.

“Why don’t you ever leave me the hell alone?” Stiles growled out at them, turning on his heel and storming off before either of them could respond. He made it all the way to the parking lot before the red Ford Focus in his usual parking spot make him stop short. Crap. He had been so fed up and frustrated that he forgot Lydia was his ride home.

Speaking of it, Lydia’s car rolled up alongside him, only pausing long enough for Lydia to roll down her window to give him an unimpressed glare, before pulling away and turning out of the lot. Well, fuck a duck.

Stiles watched the cars file out onto the road from a bench beside the bike racks, stewing in his frustration. The adrenaline was wearing off and now instead of fury, he just felt utter exhaustion. He desperately wanted to call Derek and beg for his forgiveness, but not as much as he still wanted to punch him in the face. He fought so hard, daily, to keep his insecurities from running his life, drowning him in inadequacies, and here Derek was basically telling him he was useless. He was too upset to listen to reason that that’s obviously not what Derek meant to do. Didn’t matter anyways, because that was the end result. 

The crisp air was cutting through Stiles’ jacket, and the sharp cold from the metal bench was seeping through his jeans. Not seeing any other way to get home, Stiles shoved his hands deep in his jacket pocket and turned to start his long trek back, taking the shortcut through the Preserve that he and Scott used to take everyday before they had their licenses.

It was a path Stiles knew by heart, having taken it so many times, talking endlessly with Scott back before the werewolfy incident. They used to go on and on about different ways to be “popular,” how they (mainly Scott) were finally going to make first string and maybe play in an actual lacrosse game, how Stiles was finally going to win over the heart of ice-queen Lydia Martin, how maybe their parents were definitely going to start dating someday and they would be actual brothers.

It seems like a lifetime ago thinking about it now. Despite that though, the paths through the woods were still sharply defined, guiding the way through the weaving trees and allowing Stiles to walk on mindlessly, lost in thought.

It was the crunch of a branch behind him that finally brought him out of his memories. Stiles moved to the edge of the path, expecting a biker or a runner to pass him, but no one came. Stiles frowned, before stiffening when realizing the circumstances he walked himself straight into. _The Preserve?_ Stiles thought, _stupid Stiles, stupid._

Stiles slowed, straining his ears to catch any sound of movement behind him. For a few moment he could only pick up the sound of the wind and a few birds chirping nearby. After a few paces though, Stiles noticed there were more footsteps than just his own. 

_Take a deep breath, could still be a jogger or someone else out for a walk,_ Stiles reasoned. There was only one way to find out, so Stiles gripped his keys in his fingers and turned to look behind him, aiming for casual in case it was an ordinary civilian.

And it was. About 15 paces behind him walked another boy around Stiles’ age, a backpack slung over his shoulders like he was heading back from school as well. Stiles let out a sigh of relief. Damn paranoia again, he laughed humorlessly. 

Something nagged at his brain though, the feeling of unease still prickling at his skin. He knew he didn’t know his fellow walker, but there was something familiar about him. Like Stiles should know him, but just couldn’t remember. 

Stiles snuck another glance over his shoulder. This time, as he did so, the boy looked up from the ground, making eye contact and making Stiles trip over his own feet. He did know him, Stiles thought as his heart rate racketed up. He knew those eyes, or rather that stare. It was the same one from the cafeteria the week before. 

Stiles turned forward again, and barely even thought before he broke out into a sprint. If the past year or so had taught him anything, it was to not hesitate in a fight or flight situation. You pick one of the other and then _go_. Stiles realized he may have chosen wrong though after only making it about a few feet before something large landed on his back pitching him forward, his arms flung out to brace his fall. 

He blacked out before he even hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm awful at writing action/suspense don't hate me too much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning: Stiles loses time and questions whether or not him and Derek engaged in any sexual activity after coming to in the loft. They did not, however due to the gap in his memory Stiles cannot be completely certain and panics a little.

**Day Of**

**November 11th, 12:42 PM**

The howl seemed to reverberate through the weak structure of the Hale house, shaking Stiles’ bones. The creaking on the stairs stopped, leaving an unsettling silence once the howl faded into the distance. Stiles could feel his chest tightening as he holds his breath, just waiting.

It seemed like an eternity before there was movement. 

Finally, there was a slow creak that cut through the silence of the haunted house, before there was a soft thud on the landing at the bottom of the stairs. There was no answering growl or hiss that would identify what was in the house with him. Stiles couldn’t hear anything other than the creaks of the floorboards, not even footsteps. 

It took a few moments for Stiles to shake the fear out of his limbs, realizing he could catch a glimpse of the thing in the clearing before the trees. He scrambled for the broken window, dropping his phone in his haste, the light from the flashlight scattering across the room. There was a flash of shadow at the line of trees, too quick for Stiles to identify before it disappeared into the thick foliage. _Fuck,_ Stiles thought, there goes his evidence for Derek.

Stiles glanced around the room, trying to figure out what his next steps should be when he pulled up short. Derek. There’s no way those howls could be anyone else. Even if it were another one of the pack, Derek would definitely be there with them. He was the only one that knew when Stiles was in danger like that. He had tried to explain it to Stiles once. Something about heightened alpha sense and what not. Stiles liked to joke that it’s because they get down and dirty more often than not.

Either way, Derek was out there in the woods. And that creature, whatever the hell it was, was now heading right for him.

**One Week Earlier**

**November 3rd, 7:42 PM.**

“Peanut Butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time,” Stiles sang to himself, dancing a little as he wiped a glob of PB onto his sandwich, accidentally getting more onto his hand than the bread. _Welp, more for me,_ Stiles thought as he licked the runaway PB and reached for the can to scoop some more. As he reached, though, Stiles hesitated. 

He couldn’t say what made him pause, maybe it was the haziness he felt, or the slight tickle in his gut, but something was telling him this wasn’t quite right. He kept staring at the sandwich like it held all the answers. The first slice was covered in the perfect amount of jelly, ready for Stiles to smush the two slices together and enjoy his meal. 

But the thing was, he couldn’t remember smearing the jelly onto that slice. In fact, he couldn’t remember setting out the ingredients at all. Or pouring that glass of milk. Or deciding to make a sandwich. Or even getting home. Hell, the last thing he remembered was arguing with Lydia and Allison after school. 

There was a rustle of noise behind him and Stiles whirled around, pressing his body back against the island behind him, but it was only Derek. Derek, who was wrapped in a towel, water droplets still trickling down his skin. Taking in more detail around him, Stiles noticed that he was not in the bright and slightly 80’s themed kitchen of his house, but in the minimalist kitchenette area of Derek’s loft. 

What the actual hell?

But Derek didn’t look surprised to see him either. In fact he was walking over to Stiles with a small smile on his lips, looking a lot lighter than the Derek Stiles had seen. Stiles stiffened slightly when Derek dropped a kiss to his cheek.

Weren’t they fighting? Why wasn’t Derek mad? Why wasn’t Stiles still mad? Shouldn’t there be more yelling right now? Or at least some stony silence?

The thoughts whirled in Stiles’ head as he tried desperately to grasp at anything that would help him gather his bearings. There was a sandwich, he knew that. Glancing over Derek’s shoulder, Stiles noticed the lack of light streaming in from the loft’s wall of windows. Instead it was replaced by the night sky, a dull warm glow to it from the street lights outside. His vision started to blur as Stiles’ panic began to rise. He’s losing time again. Fuck. _FUCK._

“Stiles?” Derek asked, concern knitting his brow. He was still standing pressed up against Stiles’ side, unconcerned about the water dampening Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles slipped back from him, feeling cornered in a way he’s never felt with Derek. He needed space to survey the situation. Everything was too tight, too confining.

Okay, Stiles thought, there was no sign of any of the others camped out anywhere in the loft, so Stiles must have called Derek, who then brought him to the loft. Stiles was still dressed, no sore muscle or beard burn, so he was pretty sure they hadn’t done anything. 

Stiles took a breath of relief. That would have been bad on both their ends.

Looking back at Derek now though, he knew that he had lost a significant amount of time. Enough time for him to apparently walk home and contact Derek (or Derek contacted him?), and for them to have hashed out their problems and made up? Both him and Derek are stubborn assholes. It would have taken them a lot of time and discussion to do that. Particularly if they made up without having sex. He was so confused and panicked, he wanted to tear his hair out. He could see Derek shifting on his feet out of the corner of his eye. He knew he was waiting there, wanting to give Stiles his space to regain his footing, even as he became more and more concerned as Stiles’ heart continued to pound, silently panicking. Whenever Stiles was silent, that’s when Derek freaked out the most. 

He could ask Derek what had gone on, Stiles thought. He could tell him he didn’t remember and have Derek fill in the blanks for him. It certainly was a practical option. But what if they had done something? Derek would never be able to live with himself if he thought Stiles hadn’t been really with it, hadn’t been able to fully consent.

No. Despite being almost 99% sure nothing had gone on, Stiles couldn’t take that chance.

Turning back to the counter, Stiles slowly put the lid back on the peanut butter and took several deep breaths, before turning back towards Derek, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Can you take me home?”

“Y-Yeah, sure,” Derek stammered, his movements jerky as he looked down at the towel he was still in and back towards his clothes, without really trying to turn away from Stiles.

Stiles made it easier for him, walking into the living room where his jacket was draped over the back of the couch. He heard Derek’s hurried shuffling behind him and tried to get his heart rate under control to stop freaking Derek out so much.

His skin felt cold and numb as he slid his jacket on. 

Derek was back, fully clothed this time, and standing by the door before Stiles even had his shoes slipped on. Stepping closer, Stiles noticed Derek’s shirt was inside out and the collar of his jacket was flipped up on the right side. His boots were unlaced and he was shifting on his feet nervously. He looked younger than he usually does, Stiles thought, closer to his actual age, with his hair still damp and plastered to his forehead.

“Ready?” He asked Stiles hesitantly.

“Yea,” Stiles muttered, slumping past him and out the door. In any other situation he would have rolled his eyes and poked fun at Derek when the man slipped Stiles’ bag off of his shoulder, and onto his own. The air was too thick at the moment though, and Stiles felt like words would only drag it down more. 

The silence continued on the car ride back, the air so tense it was nearly choking them. Stiles had to close his eyes and lean his head against the cool window to shut out Derek’s failed attempts at discretely sneaking glances at him. Surprisingly, it was Derek who broke the silence in the end.

“You want to pick up some food on the way? We can get some burgers and fries at the drive-thru?”

It was something so normal, it took Stiles a second to answer.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t actually eat your sandwich, and you were just going on about how hungry you were.”

“I-,” Stiles faltered. “Umm, I remembered I had some leftovers at home, shouldn’t let them go to waste,” Stiles finally finished. He may have been hungry before, but he’s not sure he could stomach anything at the moment.

Derek didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t pull into the drive-thru as they passed either, so Stiles considered it a win.

“Did I do something?” Derek asked quietly when they pulled to a stop in front of the Stilinski household. Stiles wished he could duck out of the car and avoid this conversation all together.

He didn’t know how to do this. Pretending he was fine was easy at school and around the rest of the pack, but Derek always seemed to see right through it anyways. And with the week he’s had, the exhaustion was making it impossible to put up a convincing front.

“‘Course not,” Stiles replied truthfully. “Just tired.”

Derek reached over for Stiles’ hand, hovering over it until Stiles gave him a tight smile and closed the distance, squeezing Derek’s large hand. Derek brought their hands up to place a kiss on Stiles’ palm. “I’m glad you called today.”

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. “Me too,” he said after a moment. Derek frowned as he caught the lie.

“Stiles-”

Stiles pulled his hand away and scrambled to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yea…” Derek trailed off as Stiles shut the door quickly, awkwardly waving as he rounded the car and nearly ran to the front door.

It was a minute or two before he heard the camaro pull away from the curb and down the street from his spot leaning against the closed door. It was only then that he let his tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so 1) so so so so sorry for the wait! Honestly I tripped myself up with the whole jumping timeline and I had no idea how to get it back on track for this next chapter which is why it's so short this week. 
> 
> And 2) I already have the next chapter laid out so the next update should not take like 5 months again (oops). 
> 
> And finally 3) I did not tag this chapter with any non-consensual warnings because although Stiles does question it a little, nothing sexual actually happened with him and Derek during his loss of time so I felt it did not need a tag. If you guys disagree though please let me know! 
> 
> As always hope you enjoyed and sorry again for the delay :)

**Author's Note:**

> I have been watching way too much HTGAWM and Quantico, so I profusely apologize for the skipping timelines. Hope it wasn't too hard to follow along! I tried my hardest not to immediately fall into teeth-rotting fluff when Derek and Stiles are together, but I can't help it. They kill me so much when they're happy together. Let me know what you think :]


End file.
